The Space Between Duties and Dreams
by Stella Malodi
Summary: "It was over, yes, over before it had begun– but for one small, bittersweet moment, it hadn't mattered that he would be the king and she would never be a queen." An angsty Kel/Roald drabble in two parts.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Just a little drabbley Roald/Kel angst. Because I like the pairing, but I also know it would never, ever happen– not without unrealistic circumstances, much OOC-ness, and/or a good dose of infidelity. Since I like none of those things... angst.**

 **Thanks go to My Ashland, CatrinaSL, and my mom for looking this over and helping me to decide on the ending.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the PotS series, but I _do_ have a princess crown– no, wait, I think I gave that to my dad as a joke. Darn.**

* * *

They tried not to acknowledge it, not even to themselves. Certainly not to each other. After all, there could never be anything between them. Except that there was… something. A something they ignored, avoided, denied, but it was there nonetheless.

It was there when he looked at her for a moment too long, or she at him. It was there when their eyes met and they smiled without meaning to. It was there when accidental, innocent touches burned into their skin.

(It was there when– once in a great while– the touches were _not_ accidental, though they were still innocent.)

It was there when he ignored the political ramifications and stood up for her. It was there when he spent more time with her than with anyone else.

(It was there when he was aware of her presence _every single second_ they were in the same room.)

It was there when she soothed his fears about his future bride, without acknowledging that the fears were there. It was there when her face lit up in the first moment she saw him.

(Most of all, it was there when her face went blank after that first moment. Her mask was also her biggest tell. She was only expressionless when she felt emotions she didn't want to express.)

It could never be more than a Something that was there, because he was the prince, and princes could not marry where they chose.

(Except for his father, of course.)

(He tried not to let _that_ bitter thought show, because he understood. Really, he did. Even though his parents loved each other, even though they suited each other perfectly, even though she was a wonderful queen– his father's choice of bride had, in some ways, been a bad one. In marrying her, he had made enemies and lost the chance to forge a valuable alliance with the country of his choice. He'd also made it that much more important that his children married for the Good of the Realm.)

(Sometimes, he couldn't help but think that his father was incredibly selfish.)

It could never be more than a Something that was there, because he wasn't just _any_ prince– he was the crown prince, and one day he would be the king.

(A knight might have a duty to the Realm, but there were many knights and only one king. A king– even a future one– had to wear duty like a second skin, even when it itched and chaffed. He could never forget his duty, could never put it down and just do what _he_ wanted _for once in his life_.)

(Except for his father, of course.)

It could never be more than a Something that was there, because she would be the first to admit that she would make a terrible queen.

(He thought "terrible" was too strong. She would be an _okay_ queen. Maybe even a good queen. But she would never be a great queen, and even as she tried, she would hate every second of it.)

(He knew that it was selfish of him even to love her, but he _did_ , and he didn't know how _not_ to love her. It would be _beyond_ selfish if he actually tried to do something about it– if he courted her and loved her openly. If he told his parent and the conservatives and everyone who had ever talked to him about his _duties_ where they could go. But he couldn't do that, because doing that wouldn't make anyone happy, not in the long term. Just loving her was more selfishness than he should allow himself, and Kings (even just future Kings) Weren't Selfish.)

(Except for his father, of course.)

It could never be more than a Something that was there, because he was betrothed, and honor demanded that they respect the vows he would make to the stranger who was his future wife.

(Sometimes he wished he was a little less honorable and a little more selfish.)

(Sometimes he just wished that someone, _anyone_ , could understand.)

(Except for his father, of course.)

"We used to have something. But I couldn't change the fact that I was Prince Jonathan before I was Jon."

(He understood, of course.)

(He was a prince before he was a person.)

"We were in love. But I couldn't change the fact that I was going to be the king."

(He understood, of course.)

(He was a leader before he was a lover.)

"We thought about getting married. But I couldn't change the fact that my wife would be the queen."

(He understood, of course.)

(His wife would need to be a hostess before she could be a heroine.)

"We put duty first. But I couldn't change the fact that I wished we didn't have to."

(He understood, of course.)

(His duties would always come before his dreams.)

(He only wished that doing his duty didn't mean leaving his dreams behind.)


	2. Chapter 2

"Kel? Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can we– can we pretend, just for a little while, that I'm not the prince?"

"What do you mean?"

"Please, Kel. I just– I don't think it'll be much longer before they finalize the new betrothal contract."

She stiffened and her nostrils flared. "Roald..."

"I _know_ that there can't really be anything between us. But I'm asking for a chance to pretend that there _can_ , before pretending becomes a betrayal."

She was silent for a long moment. "Won't it just make things worse? To have a single moment, one that can never be repeated? We've _been_ pretending for a long time, Roald, pretending that we only think of each other as friends. Just having this conversation will make it harder, you _know_ it will. If we add a memory of a might-have-been– will we be able to act as though it didn't happen? To go back to the way we were?"

"I don't care. I don't _want_ to care."

"One of us has to."

"Why? Why do we have to care?" he asked, suddenly angry. "Why do we have to pretend at all? Why can't we just be us– just be Kel and Roald and let that be enough?"

"Because we aren't just Kel and Roald. I'm Keladry of Mindelan, future Lady Knight, and you're Roald of Conté, future K–"

"Don't say it," he said harshly. "Just don't."

"Roald, we have to find a way to let this go," she said quietly. "It'll kill us if we don't."

He sighed, and the anger was replaced by weariness. "I know," he said, his voice just as soft as hers. "Believe me, Kel, I know." Silence fell again as each considered the other. Before he could think it through, before she could voice any objections, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was not the kiss he _wanted_ to give her, joyful and loving, the start of something bright and wonderful. Nor was it the kiss he had both dreaded and longed for, something desperate and heated, the result of passion overwhelming reason. Instead, it was soft, chaste, and bittersweet, the end of a Something that never really was.

Roald kissed Kel goodbye and held her. This would be their one and only moment, a memory to keep when he had to let her go. "I love you, Kel."

"I love you, too, Roald."

"I wish that things could be different."

"I know."

He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, loosening his hold on her and taking a step back. He left his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Gods all bless, Squire Keladry of Mindelan," he said, and released her.

She hesitated for a moment, then bowed. "Gods all bless, Your Highness."

They smiled at each other then, and felt… better. Lighter. Still sad, but not bereft.

It was over, yes, over before it had begun– but for one small, bittersweet moment, it hadn't mattered that he would be the king and she would never be a queen. For a moment, they had just been Roald and Kel.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.


End file.
